


Down in the Deep Roads

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Leliana - Freeform, Warden Alistair, Zevran - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.The Wardens are in the Deep Roads trying to find Lord Dace's expedition. It is Sevarra Amell's first time in the region. Sometimes, pushing yourself to the limit isn't always the smartest thing to do.





	Down in the Deep Roads

_Prompt 4: Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor: Your OC and their first night in the Deep Roads. How they handle it._

 

She wasn't sure which was worse: the smell or the incessant headache caused by so many darkspawn hiding just out of sight. Once in a rare while, she felt the tingling at the back of her head that announced the use of magic nearby. Darkspawn who could use magic, one of her least favorite things. The first time she'd seen one in person, in the Tower of Ishal, she'd been torn between a burning rage at the perversion of magic, and the urge to be sick.

 

She leaned on her staff, mental weariness taxing her reserves more than any complaints of the body. They were making their way to what remained of the Aeducan Thaig. She'd like to lie and say that she was a woman who was a stranger to fear. But she was no good at lying, except perhaps to herself. The thought of an entire mountain's worth of stone looming over her head was anything but a comforting one. The dull pounding in her head was worse than what she'd felt in the Tower of Ishal all those months ago. Her prey, she had to think of them as HER prey rather than she being THEIR prey, was numerous and nearby.

 

She spared a glance Alistair's way. Lovely, his eyes were glowing, which meant hers were, too. That could only mean battle was seconds away. She didn't notice the eerie blue glow in her vision. The first time he'd seen it, Zevran had actually retreated a couple of steps backward. She had never thought she would ever frighten the elf, intentionally or not. He'd seemed too cocky for that.

 

Alistair unsheathed his blade. "We've got company."

 

Zevran and Leliana readied their weapons while the mage pulled energy from the Fade, willing her skin to take on a toughness akin to stone and then imbuing the blades of her group to carry an unnatural cold bite. She'd gone soft, dallying about on the surface world, safely hidden behind a Templar and an assassin watching her back. She'd forgotten to make use of her defensive spells, something her Master would've chewed her up one way and down the other for. The ache in her left leg reminded her of her carelessness earlier that day; letting herself get surrounded and separated from the rest of the group, yet again.

 

If there was one lesson she'd learned so far in these Deep Roads, it was that the soft and the inattentive were quickly devoured, if not by darkspawn, then by deepstalkers, or spiders larger than ponies, or... whatever that thing was. Several hurlocs were trailing a giant, four-legged beast that had a foul temper and even fouler smell as it charged her group. She had to strain her ears, but she could have sworn she heard shouting and the clang of metal on metal. Perhaps they were getting closer to Lord Dace's expedition?

 

 

She managed to dive to the side before the giant beast, that she'd later learned was called a bronto, reached where she'd been standing. She kept dodging and murmuring healing spells until she finally got a clear shot, letting lightning flow from her fingertips and smiling as it leaped from one hurloc to the next, stunning at least three of them. Her leg ached in protest, but she knew slowing down would be deadly and she'd rather live to see this Blight ended, thank-you-very-much.

 

As nice as all this ducking and dodging was, she decided that hiding behind the Templar wasn't such a bad idea after all. Dodging arrows and then flinging a stonefist at one of the archers before making a run for it, she panted as she slid behind her fellow Warden.

 

His barked laugh and joke were at odds with his imposing stature and eerie glowing eyes. "The attention got to be too much, eh?" he smirked as he bashed one of the hurlocs off of its feet and then stabbed it in the chest.

 

"Yes, well, an arrow in the throat is SO last year's fashion. I'm vain that way," she grinned.

 

An arrow bounced off her currently rock-hard arm. Scowling the way it had come from, the mage witnessed as Zevran appeared behind the darkspawn archer and made a sword burst from its sternum. The assassin smirked wickedly as it perished and then kicked it off his blade. That was the last of that pack of darkspawn, at least. The bronto, however, was refusing to die in spite of the many arrows Leliana had filled it with. Alistair charged, bellowing a challenge in hope of distracting it away from their bard. The beast rounded on him, murder in its beady eye.

 

Before it could charge, the crackling of ice crystals erupting from its skin pierced the air, grinding its movement to a halt. Feeling her supply of mana reaching painfully low levels, Sevarra hurled a stonefist at it, cracking the beast's belly open, before sliding down against the wall and panting. Between this and her leg, she doubted she was going anywhere for a while.

 

The others set about searching the bodies for anything of use while she sat and caught her breath. Reluctantly, she dug into one of her belt pouches and pulled a small vial filled with deep blue liquid. She hated the taste of the stuff and hated it even more when she'd met her first lyrium-addled Templar back in Denerim several weeks ago. But her head hurt and would continue to hurt unless she slept or drank the vile concoction. Their current spot wasn't any good for a nap, what with being a relatively open area. Uncorking it quickly, she drained as much of it as she could in one swallow, gagging harshly afterward from the taste.

 

"That bad, huh?" Alistair asked as he sat down.

 

"Oh, I don't know, it has that heady bouquet of 'dear Maker, please just kill me now' and 'I think I've eaten better tasting shoes.' It's quite an experience," she chuckled weakly.

 

"Can't you just... not take it?" he asked.

 

"Ever had your mana drained? It's exquisitely painful, sort of like being run over by a wagon, but in your mind. The only way to make it stop hurting is sleep or.. this," she waved the empty vial lazily before stowing it away. "And since I don't see any convenient couches down here..."

 

She crawled up, leaning heavily on her staff. "We should get going. I don't relish the thought of being around when those deepstalker things get wind of the bodies."

 

He bit back the argument poised on the tip of his tongue. She was impossible to argue with, even when she was in a good mood. They slowly made their way further into the thaig, finally reaching what looked to be a central plaza. The bodies of dead deepstalkers were scattered about. Several recently deceased dwarves laid near one of the more intact houses.

 

"I think we're getting close," she sighed, looking over one of the fresher bodies. "I hope Lord Dace is still breathing. I hate pointless trips."

 

Laying a hand on the door of the house that still had an intact roof and walls, she quickly fell to the ground from it being pulled open from the other side. Shouting, angry dwarves drew their weapons. She winced and glowered up at the dwarf with a blond beard that hung to his waist in a plethora of beaded braids, who happened to have a sword drawn and pointed at her face.

 

"Who the sodding hells are you?" he barked.

 

"Well, that's a fine hello," she grumbled. "Lord Dace's expedition, I presume?" She pushed herself up to her knees, ignoring the fresh jolt of pain from her injured leg.

 

Alistair quickly muscled his way past and helped the mage to her feet. "We're Grey Wardens. We're looking for Lord Dace to deliver an urgent message," he added quickly.

 

The blond dwarf looked clearly unimpressed. "And just how did you get past the guard in the city? No one's allowed into the Deep Roads without permission."

 

She pulled a hefty signet ring from her pouch and offered it to the irritable dwarf. He took it and examined it in his hand. Bushy eyebrows rose in unease. "This belongs to Lady Dace, the lord's daughter."

 

"Yes, well, that would be because she gave it to us, to show to Lord Dace, to prove we're not down here just for the fun of it," the mage replied.

 

The dwarf grunted and motioned for them to follow. In what could have once been a sitting room, next to a hearth that was seeing use for perhaps the first time in centuries, sat a heavily bandaged elder dwarf. He bore the blue facial tattoos she'd noticed that the high-born menfolk seemed to favor in the Diamond Quarter, at least those who'd bothered with body art. While balding, his long, snowy beard was woven into many smaller plaits that held decorations made of precious metal or were adorned with gemstones of one sort or another.

 

 

"Lord Dace?" she asked plainly.

 

The noble nodded. She offered the signet ring, which drew the rest of his attention.

 

 

Eyeing him up and down, she began. "I am sorry we did not find you sooner. It would seem you were not met with a kind welcome here. Perhaps I could help with that?" she nodded at his bandaged arm in a sling.

 

He eyed the Warden questioningly but did not resist as she wove a spell that spurred on the healing process, making cuts seal and encouraging tissues to knit faster. He blinked in surprise as he tested out his newly mended arm.

 

"Just a bit of healing magic, nothing more. I don't bite," she grinned impishly.

 

Giving the noble the documents from Vartag had the hoped-for effect. The elder became spitting mad and glared at the Wardens.

 

 

"I thank you for coming here at great personal risk to deliver this. The nerve of that man! My whole house could have suffered from this dirty trick! I will most certainly throw my family's support behind Prince Bhelen!"

 

Leaving Alistair to talk with the noble, she drifted away, looking over the surviving warriors and mercenaries. More men than not were wrapped in bandages. Ignoring the aching protest of body and mind, she set about healing what she could with magic for the more grievous injuries. Finishing her ministrations to one man who was on the brink of death and managing to pull him back from the edge, she hobbled away a few steps before falling to the floor unconscious.

 

Leliana and Zevran hurried over and investigated, worried that perhaps an injury had been hidden or unnoticed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, barring the deep circles under the mage's eyes and the cut on the outside of her left leg.

 

"It would seem even Grey Wardens can only push for so long before fatigue catches up," the elf hemmed.

 

"This place is as good as any to set up for the night," the bard added. "Better let Alistair know. Besides, some of those men don't look safe to move just yet."

 

The noble readily agreed to share camp for the night and heading back to Orzammar in the morning. There was greater safety in numbers. Alistair sat near his sister-Warden and sighed something about "stubborn arse mages” while Leliana took the first watch.


End file.
